


find what you lost (or lose what you’ve found)

by sunbean72



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drugged Tony Stark, Ex-Vengers, F/M, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Rogue Avengers, Steve Rogers critical, Tony Stark Feels, Whump, but a leeeetle bit of a fix it fic, but he’s trying his best in this fic, he’s not exactly forgiven, tony and steve work through their crap for once, you might not enjoy if you are feeling extra salty about him and don’t want him forgiven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26453530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbean72/pseuds/sunbean72
Summary: during the blip, tony stark has done what he can to move forward with his future us-es. When he’s kidnapped, he may need more help than he wants to get back to his family when pepper is forced to contact his once allies and friends to bring him home.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

Only a few minutes after the dust settled from the car pulling away, Tony Stark noticed that the stars had somehow aligned without him even planning or meaning them to. Pepper had taken Morgan with her to the market to give him a few minutes peace; Morgan had had a couple of “defcon 5” level tantrums today, having started the transition from two to one nap a day not easy on her little body. He didn’t mind the tantrums that much. Having an active, inquisitive, bold toddler who feared nothing and was curious about everything was fun and filled his days with life and light but even so, a little time to himself, a little peace and quiet helped to recharge his batteries (even if his days of running on batteries was over now). The physical therapist said he was 80% there, and some days he felt that 20 more than others. It was not often, though, that he was without his gals.

It was also post-op day three for Rhodey, who had just had surgery on part of his spine. He’d put it off long enough; now that plenty of time had passed and he’d had time to heal, the neurosurgeon was hoping to remove some of the scar tissue and bone calluses around the shattered vertebra, hoping that doing so would improve Rhodey’s functioning even more. Tony and Pepper had been around before and after the surgery but Rhodey had sent them home late yesterday to let him focus on his therapy and treatments. He was in good hands, but it was a little unusual not to have him around either.

On top of that, Happy was also out of town to visit his Mom, helping her work on a few things around the house. Tony could count on one hand the number of times he’d been without all of them in the past three years. Always in some combination they spent most of their time together. For Tony to be completely alone was rare indeed.

He didn’t even have to expect an unexpected visit from Nebula, Rocket, or Carol. They were off planet.

(The other Avengers were no consideration; he hadn’t had contact with them since he left the Compound three days after he’d arrived there. Years ago now. He was disappointed, heartbroken, but mostly relieved that they left him alone. He didn’t think about them much at all any more; sometimes just a quiet ache when one of them was on the news for something. They were his failure, failure, failure.)

A few hours of the day waited expectantly before him, offering something unusual to him even now— a few moments respite. He was thoughtful about it but it didn’t take him long to decide he would go stretch out on the hammock and read for a while. He had much more interesting things to read than Pepper’s gardening books, a novel, in fact. Pride and Prejudice. Had to respect the classics.

He puttered around a few minutes to wait for his water to boil before he poured it over his tea to let it seep. It was required since it was basically against the law to read Jane Austen without tea, wasn’t it? A walk to the mailbox and back would be just about exactly the right amount of time for his tea so he meandered a few minutes in the soft spring sunlight, allowing the warmth of its rays to sink into his shoulders, his hair. He felt content. 

He filed through the mail, setting aside a few bills, invoices for parts he’d ordered for the lab. He opened a small package he expected to be the part he’d ordered for an experimental piece on the Mark 57. He used a kitchen knife to slice along the tape then slid his finger under the lid to open the box and felt a sudden sharp pain like a paper cut as something nicked his skin. A small, warning surge of adrenaline ticked up his heartbeat; it hadn’t been a paper cut. He opened the box and found that the prick he’d felt was from a transcutaneous injection device. Maybe a hundred tiny needles in the space of a square inch, nestled stratigically along the edge of the lid, had injected _something_ into his body.

A moment later his brain caught up with the lag caused by the completely unexpected danger. First his finger then his hand started to tingle and then to burn, not painful but on the razor edge of painful as if he’d touched ice. Fumbling with urgency he moved to the kitchen sink, washing his hand to get whatever substance he’d just encountered off, dumping a palmful of liquid soap over his hand, scrubbing, even as he was he saw the light from the window fuzz, felt the hot, almost electrical sensation of the drug hitting his blood stream. The fear pounded in his brain, trying to combat the fog.

“It’s too late,” a voice said softly as a creak from the screen door altered him to the presence of someone _entering the house._ Tony whirled around, overwhelming his ability to balance with the movement and he staggared, falling against the counter, looking for some kind of weapon, something to activate FRIDAYs security protocols but it’d been _years,_ not since Morgan was a baby, since he’d thought about needing them. There was nothing. He was safe here. No one even knew about here.

Except apparently a tall man with gray hair, sharp blue eyes, well built and powerful looking, otherwise completely unassuming and unrecognizable. He stepped forward with his hands raised, as if showing Tony he meant no harm. Tony tried to step back, but his body was not responding.

“The absorption rate through the skin with that method is quite fast; it won’t make any difference to wash now.” He stepped to the box and examined it. “My, my. You caught the full dose! More than I expected. Bit of an overdose, that’s on me. But still, it’s better to be safe than sorry! I couldn’t have you resisting.” 

Tony tried again to move away but the weakness that had begun to pervade his body was rapidly developing into a floating feeling of dreaminess that put a soft, almost gentle edge to his panicked thoughts. The man watched him thoughtfully and as Tony started to fall to the floor, he leaned forward and caught him across the chest before he could fall and hit his head. Tony pushed against him weakly, unable to think, unable to fight. Realizing immediately it was pointless, Tony stilled.

“That’s good,” the man said amiably. “That’s smart. You _are_ smart. I don’t necessarily need to hurt you. It’s not necessary. And don’t worry, it won’t harm you. With that high of a dose, there might come some unpleasant side effects, but quite harmless. Come here, up you get. We need to hurry. Pretty soon, you won’t hardly be able to move.” Tony had no strength to resist but no strength to help either and focused solely on using what was left of his comprehension to try and see a way to call for help, unable to pull his arms away from the surprisingly powerful grip of the man as he half- carried, half-dragged Tony onto his own front porch.

“Here we go!” the man said cheerfully, carefully setting Tony in the wheelchair that the man had apparently placed before coming in. “Let’s see. Can’t be too careful. I’ll need this.” He removed Tony’s watch, took his cell phone out of his front shirt pocket, patted him down for any other tech. His hand passed over the center of Tony’s chest, careful, slow, giving Tony what was supposed to be reassuring eye contact. 

“No arc reactor, that’s great. I was worried about that. I wouldn’t want to take that off you, but I would have to, of course! That simplifies things for both of us.” Tony’s stomach rolled with pure fury and disgust at this violation, but whatever he’d been hit with, it was wreaking havoc with his motor skills. The powerlessness, the vulnerability, not since Afghanistan, not since Siberia, not since Titan after Thanos stabbed him and Strange stopped Thanos from killing him. Something of his emotions must have been in his expression but the man just smiled a little, as if it were a joke between them.

“Time for a road trip!” 

But he didn’t touch the wheelchair yet. He went to a small device in the yard, setting the timer. “No,” Tony said, finally finding a voice, but it was weak and powerless and he closed his eyes tightly. This again, being taken from his loved ones. This again. He was failing his family again.

The man put a reassuring hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. As long as you do all the things I ask, nothing bad will happen. This will be over soon. I’m afraid your wife and daughter might be afraid a while, but that’s all it will be, they’ll be all right. Morgan won’t even remember.” 

Tony felt himself breathing fast, too fast, that the man knew Morgan’s name. They’d kept her out of the press, of course they had, only a handful of people knew she existed. 

The timer completed and Tony felt a small shudder under his bare feet.

“Sorry about the mess that will make, but that should fry any surveillance from today. It’s redundant, really. I was able to hack in and turn off some of FRIDAY’s more guard-doggish tendencies and make sure she wasn’t able to send up a smoke signal. There now! Let’s get going! You’re going on a little trip in more ways than one.” The gray-haired man gave an undignified yet somehow chilling chuckle.

And despite his anger and rising fear and the ache he felt for all that the man had somehow taken from him in one fell swoop, he felt the pull of the drugs calming and soothing him, leadinging his limbs so he could barely move even had he wanted to. The man wheeled him over then lifted him bodily into the van, his looks and age belying his powerful strength. Whistling a soft, tuneless song through his teeth the man zip-tied Tony’s wrists behind his back. Tony was completely helpless, aware but unable to be concerned. 

“Can’t be too careful you know! I’ll try not to make the same mistake that so many have and underestimate you, so this may be a bit of overkill.” He proceeded to connect the zip tied hands to a short rope anchored to the wall of the van, making it impossible for Tony to maneuver his hands in front of him, as well as binding his ankles. He then forced a gag between Tony’s lips. “There now, nice and safe! Don’t worry, it’s temporary. That is, we have a long drive, but after that I’m sure we can get you out of these! Try to relax! You could enjoy yourself,” he added with a grin. 

Tony closed his eyes, fighting as best he could the effects of the drug in his system. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. He was desperately trying to focus on the feel of the road, wondering if he could keep track of his approximate location even though the back of the van was windowless. 

The attempt was abandoned quickly as the effects of the drugs increased. A spinning sense of vertigo made keeping track of the van movements all but impossible. He decided under the circumstances, he’d just have to follow his captor’s advice and relax.  
…

Pepper came into the house a few hours later, carrying Morgan who had fallen asleep on the car ride home. She took the sleepy girl to her room and kept the door open a crack before going out to get their shopping spoils.

“Tony?” she called out, not too loud to wake Morgan. She saw his tea in the kitchen with the partially opened mail; maybe he’d forgotten it, or maybe he’d gotten the part he’d wanted and was in the lab. That made her smile.

He wasn’t in the lab; in fact, the lights didn’t come up when she walked in like they should. She frowned, but went back up stairs and put away the groceries, confident that wherever he was he’d meander in pretty soon. 

But when everything was put away and he still hadn’t come, she went looking for him. She tried a few spots outside, called for him, then searched the house. She went back down to the lab, her heart beginning to pound, worried now. She went further in and there was a faint electrical burn smell. She tried to turn on the lights manually, but the lab remained dark, something was wrong.

FRIDAY was a background part of their life, not overtly integrated in much of the house except the lab. There were a few minor cameras so they could let Morgan play without worrying about her wandering too close to the lake on her own, but nothing major. Pepper ran quickly upstairs and called more urgently for Tony. She walked quickly out the front door, looking for any sign of him, and then saw his phone and watch on the ground in a patch of grass just off the porch. 

Sickened, she realized something was terribly wrong. She covered her mouth, her stomach twisting with painful anxiety, an ache that spread to her chest, her heart aching and afraid. What should she do? Call the police?

She picked up Tony’s phone and it unlocked for her. She scrolled through to see if he’d called anyone, texted, if there were pictures, but there was nothing since yesterday, just Morgan eating a sandwich. 

“Tony, Tony, where are you, what happened?” she murmured, fear growing more powerful each moment. She noticed now the tire treads. Someone had been here.

She knew Carol, Nebula, and Rocket were off planet. She scrolled through his phone for some idea on who to call. There was nothing, no one; his contacts were the bare minimum. He was practically a hermit. She needed help, she needed more than the police.

No one was in his phone or hers. But she knew one place to look.

Having decided on a course of action, she went as quickly as she could to their attic. Pulling out an old box, she rifled through papers, pictures, schematics, odds and ends until she found an old flip phone. Tony had replaced the battery with one of his own design that kept it from losing a charge when not in use, a precaution he took when he still carried around with him _just in case._ It had been turned off for storage when Bruce gave it back to him with a few other things from the Compound, Pepper doubted that Tony even knew it was in there but she had noticed it, and at the moment it was the only thing she could think of.

She stared at the phone as it trembled in her now shaking hand, tears building in her chest. It probably didn’t even work any more. It’d been so long ago. She pressed buttons to get to the one screen showing one number and pressed send.

It rang several times and then clicked. “Steve? Is it—?”

“The person you are trying to reach is not available,” a false, robotic voice informed her coolly. “The voice mailbox has not been set up yet. Please try your call again later.”

Pepper closed the phone and allowed a couple of the threatening, hot tears to escape. She would have to go to the police and hope they could loop in people who could help with higher-level threats. Tony was gone, not of his own accord, he was in danger. 

She’d been in this place so many times. She’d accepted it as part of loving Tony, and no matter how upset and afraid it made her feel, she always thought it was worth it. He was worth anything, everything. But she hated this. She really, really hated it.

“Hang on, Tony,” she whimpered, resting her head in her hands, pressing the heels against her eyes until they ached.

She jumped when the phone she’d dropped to the ground rang, the vibration making the phone move suddenly. Scrambling, she opened it. “Hello—?”

There was a pause. “Mrs. Stark, is that you?” the baffled and concerned voice of Steve Rogers came over the phone. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” Pepper replied breathlessly. “No, it’s not. Someone came while I was gone with the baby—“

“The baby?”

“Morgan,” Pepper replied, the hot press of fear and tears making her throat tight, difficult to talk. “I was out with Morgan, our daughter, she’s two… He was here alone and someone came, someone took him, I don’t know who.” She leaned forward again, now feeling faint. Her vision swam and she couldn’t process what Steve replied. “What?”

“Mrs. Stark! Pepper!” 

“I’m here, I need help. I don’t know if the police—“

“You did the right thing, I’m coming. I’ll be there, as fast as I can be, I will be there, just hang on.”

Pepper didn’t speak for a long moment. She wanted to say something to him, but couldn’t think of anything. She could hear the sounds of him moving quickly, of saying things to other people, probably Natasha, but she couldn’t process. “Hurry,” she said, when she’d opened her mouth she thought to say thank you.

“Mrs. Stark, are you safe? Can you get a bag of belongings together? We can’t have you stay there alone—“

“I can’t leave, I want to be here when he comes back.” By now she was crying, wet tears, the kind you drown in. 

“You will be. When we bring him home, you’ll be there. For now get some bare essentials. Call the police when we hang up.”

“Okay.”

He gave her a few more assurances, and hung up a few moments later. 

Pepper pulled out her own phone and called the police.

…

The police arrived and the FBI. The Agent assigned to the case seemed competent and kind, and if nothing else she was organized and thorough. When the quinjet flew overhead to land at a meadow a few blocks from the house that Nebula and Rocket parked their various modes of transportation when they came, she gave Pepper an astute look. “I wasn’t aware I’d have back up.”

“I’m not so sure you will, Agent Stills,” Pepper said. “I really can’t say for certain I know what role if any I’d like the Avengers to play in Tony’s case.” But her professional tone was ruined somewhat that she had started crying again, only the fifth time since this had started. She didn’t know if her tears were relief or fear. All these times she’d almost lost Tony, her biggest fear was that _she_ would lose him, but now with Morgan, her fear that _they_ would lose him left a bright and burning pain that didn’t want to end. 

Steve and Natasha came at full jog a few minutes later. “Pepper,” Natasha said breathlessly, tears moistening her eyes as she took in Pepper’s state. “Are you okay? What happened? Steve didn’t have any details—“

“There aren’t any details,” Pepper said, leaning into the hug a little. Natasha could feel a line of tension within Pepper and it somehow brought to mind a moment a million years ago when Pepper had said _I’m on to you_ and she probably really had been even if she hadn’t known exactly what it meant yet. She still was on to her; she knew how much Natasha loved Tony even with everything between them.

Steve stepped forward, nodding. “Tell us what you do know,” he said without preamble. Pepper caught a note in his voice, the one that told her Steve felt something about this, probably guilt but also anxiety.

“I took Morgan shopping, we were gone about three hours and Tony was here alone. Now he’s gone, his cell phone and watch were removed, there were strange tire marks. There’s nothing on surveillance.” 

A small sound of a child crying came from the house and Pepper dropped her hands and moved quickly toward the house. Natasha nodded to Agent Stills. “Can you loop me in on what you’ve found?”

Agent Stills hesitated briefly but then turned her notes around for Natasha to read. Dealing with the kidnapping of an Avenger, especially this particular one, was going to take more skills and resources that she could hope to gather on her own. “There was a box found in the kitchen with some device that apparently administered something to Mr. Stark when he opened it.”

“What kind of something?”

“Medication like a sedative? Poison? We don’t know, it’s been taken for analysis. There’s been no phone calls for ransome, no demands, no note. Mrs. Stark isn’t aware of any threats or… or of anyone she thinks might have a reason to hurt him.”

The grieving world swung between blaming the Avengers and honoring them for their attempts to save them. By and large Tony fell into the latter category, as some details of his battle on Titan had found its way around the internet several months after he’d come home. No one was sure about the source of the leak, as Tony himself never did give a full account of what happened. The going theory was always Rocket, since Nebula told him everything that had happened that Rocket was pretty chatty with the media as they loved him. Except for an often vitriolic and toxic minority, most people loved Tony Stark, even as he disappeared nearly completely from public view.

Pepper came up with a dark haired child in her arms. The toddler had Tony’s dark eyes and the same hair down to the soft curls on her tousled head.

“You had a baby?” Steve asked after a stunned moment. “I didn’t know.”

“We were afraid someone could target her if they knew. No one knows.”

Except, unspoken, Rhodey. Carol, Nebula, Rocket. People who came here, who were trusted, who held Tony’s love and friendship. Natasha was staring at Morgan with a haunted, terrible sadness in her eyes, blinking back tears. 

_No trust, liar._ Tony had said to Steve, nearly two years ago, but he’d meant them all, none of them were with him. 

Steve kept a steely grip on his own disappointment and sadness. “She’s beautiful, Pepper. We need to get Tony home to her. Start from the beginning.”

So Pepper, clinging to Morgan like a lifeline, explained to them everything that had happened since she left that morning until she called Steve. 

“Please find him,” she said, her eyes pleading as she looked at them in turn. “I know you haven’t seen each other in a long time, maybe it’s not… maybe you don’t—“

“Mrs. Stark, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to bring him home to you,” Steve said with a grim determination. 

Perhaps part of it was the guilt he felt, yes, and the desire to do something, anything, that could in even a small way make up for his failures. But even if it didn’t, the world needed Tony Stark in it now more than ever. And he deserved to be with his child. He owed it to Tony and to Pepper to do everything in his power to make that happen for him. 

Pepper nodded quickly, beyond thankful to have someone to turn to in a moment like this. Despite not being able to completely trust them, they were _capable_ to put it mildly, and Steve’s reassurance helped. Tony needed their skills and expertise, nothing else mattered to her at all in that moment, thinking of Tony in danger, in harm’s way, possibly being injured or—

Natasha had put a hand on her shoulder, looking at her with deep concern and sorrow. Pepper folded into her, laying her head on her shoulder and Natasha wrapped her arms around the two Starks, whispering comforting words in Russian in Pepper’s ear. Over the top of Pepper’s head, Natasha met Steve’s eyes. In silence they both agreed that there was no option for failure on this mission.


	2. Chapter 2

“It was good to see Pepper again,” Natasha said hesitantly as she piloted the quinjet and Steve looked through evidence they’d gathered.

Steve paused a bare moment. “Yeah.”

In truth it hadn’t been good to see Pepper like this. He hadn’t expected it but it was too sharp a reminder of another time he’d seen her, three days after the Snap; Tony was missing then, too. 

He and Natasha had wanted to get home and Queen Romonda had not been exactly sorry to see them go. Her country in turmoil, both of her children gone, she had more important things to do than entertain the foreigners that had so badly and utterly failed to win the war they’d brought to her beautiful country’s door. She offered no condemnation, but neither had she offered them forgiveness; she was coolly polite and offered to make their arrangements so they could return to their own country to assist in the fallout from the massive devastation. If she was angry that it was her own people that were killed in battle, adding to the numbers that turned to dust in the snap, she did not show it.

Rhodey had taken them back to the Compound, beyond broken and devastated. He’d been largely silent since failing to find Sam and realizing he was gone. They were all silent, Bruce, Thor, Natasha, Rocket. Well, Rocket was nearly silent. The progression of his tears were quiet enough that Steve hadn’t realized he was crying until several minutes had passed. Almost silent.

Pepper was already at the Compound when they arrived from Wakanda. Of course she was; she had moved in before the engagement was announced, it was her home. In the short time it took them to arrive from Wakanda, grief-stricken and demoralized, she had already turned it into a command center of sorts, as desperate pleas for help started pouring in as the extent of the damage became known. But there was nothing she could do. Nothing any of them could do.

She was looking for Tony, Rhodey had told them after calling her to warn they were coming.

Steve hadn’t even thought of how Tony and Pepper had made it their home in the rogue Avenger’s absence. She hadn’t been there initially when Steve had brought the rogue Avengers back; she’d been in the city, dealing with Tony’s leaving and the damage from Ebony Maw and Cull Obsidian (as Rocket had identified them). They had not seen each other, therefore, in a long, long time and in all honesty, with everything that was going on she hadn’t crossed his mind except when she came up on the news. Even then he didn’t spare her much thought.

So he’d been surprised when Rhodey had asked them to stay put a minute in the quinjet until he mentioned he wanted to talk to Pepper in person before they all barged in. He had perhaps imagined that she would be glad to see them, given the fact that the world was in such turmoil now, who wouldn’t want the world’s heroes at their side? Yet Rhodey treaded lightly, protective. He made it seem like she might not want to see them. Steve could perhaps understand, if Tony had told her everything that had happened in Siberia and what he’d concealed from Tony, but still, he would expect bygones to be bygones. 

Steve had gathered his gear, waiting for the okay but deciding it was not likely that Pepper would even come see them. There was certainly enough going on to keep everyone busy. But she’d come out to the landing pad walking swiftly ahead of Rhodey, who, without the War Machine armor, had difficulty keeping up with her clipped pace.

He’d hurried out to meet her, sure that she had come to deliver some news on Tony—that she’d heard from him, or they had somehow learned what had happened to him. But whatever she had come to say, it wasn’t to update them on Tony, and she never did say it. She’d come to face _him._ She just stared him right in the eyes, her expression terrible, indescribable. 

When he saw her, what was in her eyes in that moment, the scope and tragedy of their failure fell away and Steve only felt the one loss that mattered most to her and saw that _she blamed him._

In that moment, when he tried and _failed_ to think of what to say to her, it was a moment he first had the inkling that he’d fallen into a trap of his own making. All his life when he’d been faced with the decision to act or not act, he’d always chosen to act. He’d relished in both things, the choosing and the power to act, and there was nothing higher in his estimation than those two things. It was, had he’d once said in a speech, a steep cost, but there was no price too high to pay to maintain it. His own life. Even other’s lives; that’s what being a soldier was all about.

The snare had been laid; the action itself, he was beginning to understand, trapped him into the next act and the next, until really he wasn’t faced with any choice in the matter at all. Any hesitation on his part would mean that all the sacrifice and death that had preceded that moment would be for nothing and so he always had to act and act. The ability to choose was gone and then when he faced Thanos he realized not only was his power to act was gone, he’d never really had it. It was an illusion. He was utterly useless and powerless, it had taken him one punch. Staring down at Vision’s gray and lifeless body, he’d realized not only had he failed and Thanos had destroyed what ended up being half of all life in the universe, but all the action and sacrifice that brought him to that moment—

Had been.

_For nothing._

After a few moments, Pepper had gotten her emotions under control and lifted her chin, almost defiant despite her red and swollen eyes clearly fresh from crying, her face pale but calm.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to,” she’d told them without rancor but there was something dark in her piercing gaze that made Steve feel something he rarely did; he felt ashamed. “Perhaps if you find time you can help me try to find Tony and bring him—“ 

She hadn’t been able to finish, even her control not up to the task, and Rhodey had put a hand on her shoulder and she’d fainted under his kind touch, collapsing without warning, barely giving Rhodey time to catch her. Bruce had stepped forward to help, and they hadn’t seen much of her after that. She did her thing and allowed them to do theirs, stepping in to help when required, and yes; looking for Tony Stark.

In the twenty-two days it took for Tony to come home, they’d had a few conversations, and none of them were pleasant memories to Steve. Pepper Potts was the embodiment of his shame and guilt. 

Steve recalled himself to the present, shaking his head. He sat beside Natasha, staring out at the blue skiess around them. 

“Morgan.”

“I know.”

“I guess I never realized how far apart we’d really drifted.”

“It’s not like a surprise. None of us were invited to the wedding, either.”

“I know. I understand.” He did, too. It still was painful, it still hurt like hell that Tony hadn’t forgiven him enough to even let Rhodey tell them he’d had a kid. A little girl. It would have brought him some peace, some happiness. And maybe it was a little peace and happiness he didn’t deserve to share in but that didn’t make it easier to bear. 

“The baby,” Steve said, realizing he’d let silence drag out too long and Natasha was still waiting for him to continue, her eyes too knowing. “She was beautiful. She looks a lot like Tony.”

Natasha gave a sharp nod but didn’t reply, and neither of them continued with the conversation, both haunted by their pasts with Tony and afraid of what might happen if they didn’t find him in time. 

…

Tony felt something crawling on him and spasmed compulsively before he shuddered, realizing that the feeling was the drugs. He felt the strange, light headed, disconnected. But under it, like an itch beneath the skin, was an unpleasant thread of hyper awareness. Whatever he gave him must be some kind of stimulant or dissociative like Ketamine.

“You’re thinking too much,” the driver said, eyeing him in the rear view mirror. “But I guess that’s why I nabbed you. On the other hand, if you’d just relax you might enjoy things a little bit more. You might as well, what else are you going to do?”

There might have been some wisdom in that, but Tony refused to comply on principle. Or was it spite? 

The man chuckled, seeming to read his thoughts. “It doesn’t bother me if you suffer, Stark. If you feel strongly about it, then be my guest.” He seemed to find his own remark humorous and laughed again, light hearted, in a good mood. He was apparently very pleased with himself.

Tony closed his eyes and tried to relax and conserve his energy and _think._ The drug, whatever it was, interfered with his ability to do either very well. He stopped struggling against his bonds and focused on his breathing, in and out, in and out, and focusing on each muscle to relax it, trying to meditate to overcome the effects of the drug. 

But it was a losing battle. Tony knew a battle he couldn’t fight when he saw one; by god, he knew at least that much. He would have to ride it out, like he had so many things before. 

A dark euphoria, almost giddiness borderline with anxiety swung his thoughts away from anything resembling rational. 

“You’re just fine, Tony. Didn’t I tell you next time you ride with me? This look like a fun-vee to you?” Tony’s eyes shot open, and Rhodey was sitting beside him in the van, watching him with careful concern. Tony’s chest constricted with pain; hallucination Rhodey wasn’t paralyzed from the waist down, he wasn’t wearing braces. He was intact, strong as he’d ever been, and Tony found he was biting down hard on the gag. It was making him sick, the sensation of cloth wet with saliva in his mouth and in response to the thought his stomach clenched. If he threw up, he would surely choke and die. So much for the last act of defiance of the great Tony Stark. Trussed up and helpless as a kitten. 

He was shaking now. Strange twitches of his body as it processed the potent drug felt as if he were not in control of his own body. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He felt sweaty and clammy all over. He tried again to breathe. 

“Dad,” Morgan said, but he didn’t open his eyes to see her. It simply hurt too much. It ended up not mattering; he could see her just as clearly with his eyes closed like some kind of waking dream or nightmare. She didn’t know many words, just a few simple sounds, but he’d been proud that ‘dad’ was her first word. He didn’t want her here, he didn’t even want to _think_ of her here, he didn’t want to think of what might happen next for their family, how it might affect her.

“Morgan,” he could help but mumble, his brow furrowed. He could smell her shampoo, he thought. It was profoundly disturbing. He felt his heart pounding now, clipping at too fast a pace, feeling as if it were trying to jump out of his chest. Stabs of pain would spasm through his chest. His injured heart did not take well to a prolonged fast rate. 

Time warped strangely. He did not sleep but time passed as if he did. There was no way to tell how much had passed, nor how far they’d gone. It seemed like only a short time later when he felt the van stop and the engine turn off. But he knew it had not been a short time. The ache in his shoulders and arms from being bound in such an uncomfortable position told him as much. But everything felt strange. Dr. Strange. 

“Tony, it was the only way,” the man insisted, standing to the left of his captor as he opened the van doors. The light assaulted his eyes and Tony turned his head quickly to avoid the pain it induced. His mind cleared of some of the fog that dampened and slowed his thoughts as he caught a breath of fresh air and Strange was gone when he looked again. 

His captor was eyeing him with satisfaction. “I won’t lie, part of me was worried someone would follow us after all. But now that we’re safely here, I think we can breathe a little easier,” he said cheerfully. Tony felt the tight grip of nausea again, so angry, so angry at the man’s cheerful attitude. He hadn’t killed anyone in a long time but he would be more than willing to break the man’s neck. 

He would kill him if he got the chance. 

The man set the wheelchair up and then carefully unbound Tony’s hands and feet from their anchors. He checked his watch then gave Tony a reassuring smile. “I don’t suppose you’ll be feeling up to full strength for a couple hours yet. You can fight me if you want to try, but it won’t do you any good. I have to undo your hands so you can sit in the wheelchair but I’d suggest you don’t try anything.” He cut his hands loose with a wickedly sharp pocket knife Tony could see out of the corner of his eye and he turned his head to see where on his person his abductor kept it, filing it away for later. The man zip tied his hands in front of him, painfully tight before pulling him out of the van with surprising strength.

Even if he had wanted to try something, Tony’s head swam almost instantly as he was dragged bodily out of the back of the van. Tony squinted, trying to get some idea of where they were. It seemed in the late afternoon and they were in a wilderness somewhere. Mountains, it seemed, but the road they’d drove up on was dirt, not maintained. Not many were, after the Snap, just the most essential.

His captor didn’t seem to be taking any chances, indeed, not underestimating Tony even in his drugged state. He kept his body far enough back that Tony couldn’t have tried for the knife even if he’d had the wherewithall to try and grab it. After assuring that Tony was still securely bound, he did, at least, remove the gag.

“If you’re inclined to scream for help, be my guest,” he smiled, his face close to Tony’s. “There’s _no one,_ not for miles and miles. I don’t even get hikers up here. Anything you’d like to get out of your system?”

“Son of a _bitch,_ ” Tony said breathless but with venom. “What the hell… do you even want with me? Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?” 

“I suspect I want what a great many people want, Stark. An end to this suffering, this terrible existence you condemned us _all_ to. I believe there’s a way to make things right but I can’t do it alone. In fact, neither can you. But I know someone who can. I just need a little help.” 

“I won’t help you.” Tony closed his eyes, his pounding heart doing just as much if not more to fill him with weakness, and his chest _hurt._

“You won’t like to, but you will. You will if you ever want to see your wife and daughter again. You made things just so _easy,_ Stark. Opening up yourself to the worst kinds of vulnerabilities, alienating many of your allies. All I had to do was _wait._ It wasn’t even hard. Now. You might have, for all I know, had some training to resist torture. But I’ve had training to break people who have training to resist torture, Stark. The lovely concoction you have running through your veins? That’s not the only weapon in my arsenal, Stark. But we don’t need to get ahead of ourselves.” He went behind Tony, stearing the wheelchair up a small ramp into a cabin.

“HYDRA was kind enough to leave one of their safe houses. After Natasha Romanoff’s info dump, then the snap decimating half the population, there really isn’t the bandwidth to monitor places like this. I’ve been using it for three years, can you believe it? Plenty of time to scrub its existence off the internet and other databases. As far as I know, you and I are the only people who know this place exists.” 

He seemed pleased with himself, confident, but Tony doubted even someone clever enough to pull this off was able to completely hide his tracks. But the hard reality of it was there was little chance anyone with the right capabilities would be looking for him. They might find him eventually, but probably not… not in time. Whatever had to happen Tony would have to stop it himself.

The man twisted the lid off a water bottle and placed it in Tony’s hands. Tony was suddenly aware of his burning thirst, but he fumbled and the water slopped all over. His captor chuckled indulgently. 

“That full dose really knocked you one, didn’t it,” he observed and put the bottle to Tony’s lips. Loathe to drink from his hand, Tony did anyway, so thirsty he could hardly help it. “It’s the scopolamine component of the drug, I think. I’m not sure. None of the animals I tested it on could tell me what they were feeling. But I have a sturdy scientific grasp of the theory.” 

Tony turned his head, trying to catch his breath after his long drink. “You give me any more of that shit and it will give me a heart attack. It will kill me. You might as well get it over with, because I won’t help you.”

“You’re getting more articulate, that’s good. How else do you feel? Heart racing, you say? Pain? Any other side effects?”

Tony flinched as if flame-bitten as Steve Rogers appeared beside the man, looking concerned.

“You need to get out of here, Tony,” he said in a firm but calm voice. 

“No, no, no,” Tony said quietly, unable to keep from pulling against his bonds. “Let me go. Let me go.” Seeing Steve, like this, for the first time since he left the Compound, brought every emotion right back to the surface that he thought long dead and buried. Every painful

The man followed Tony’s gaze, calculating. “Ah. Hallucinations? Not surprising.”

“Let me go.”

“You’re starting to make me feel under-appreciated here, Stark,” the man said with good-natured humor. “But don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll win you over. He gave a cheeky smile and Tony felt familiar rage but there was nothing to do with it, it had nowhere to go. 

Steve stepped forward and Tony closed his eyes, wishing it was _anyone_ but Steve, Steve who had failed him, Steve that he had failed. It still bothered him that Steve hadn’t trusted him with the Accords, hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him about his own parent’s murder, but was that Steve’s failing or his, it more often felt like his—

“Stark? Thought I was losing you there. I think we better give you a chance to sleep off some of the drug. That dose was too much. Next time, I promise we won’t need near as much. I need you cooperative, not… compromised!” He grinned, apparently without malice, which seemed worse to Tony.

The man steered the wheelchair into a small bedroom where a comfortable-looking full sized bed was the only furniture in the room. There were no other doors besides the one they came in and the window was barred on the outside. There was a pretty view of the surrounding woods but they were overgrown, wild, like many others after the Snap when nature’s balance was thrown wildly out of balance for a time. The forests had grown dark, menacing, a strange red light pervaded there.

“No,” Tony told himself, closing his eyes. It was the hallucination. He could hear Morgan calling, a cry of pain and distress. “No!”

“Tell you what,” the man said kindly. “You did get an extra high dose. I’ll help you sleep it off. You’re going to feel _so much better_ after some rest! Today has been a hard day. Let’s get you a nap and we’ll talk more then.”

The man left the room and Tony pulled futilely at his restraints but he wasn’t alone long enough to make any progress. The man was back a moment later with a syringe in his hand. He smiled indulgently at Tony’s struggles.

He carefully lifted up the edge of Tony’s sleeve and exposed his bicep. “Quick poke!” He said cheerfully and pushed the needle into Tony’s arm. Tony felt the quick pain of the fluid going in, then a burning sensation. “That might sting a little.”

Tony tried to repress the anxiety attack he felt coming on, his breathing coming fast and shallow; he knew he only had a few minutes before the drug hit his system and wanted to try something, anything, before then but there was nothing he could do. He was helpless. The man was busying himself by preparing the bed, turning down the covers with care, creasing the sheets neatly, then standing beside Tony and watching him attentively.

The world heaved and dragged, going slow and heavy. The new drug smothered the effects of the old, the hallucinations were gone, only the heaviness remained, pulling Tony toward sleep with an unrelenting and irresistible weight. Tony’s thoughts became sluggish as if weighted and in deep water and while he felt the man pull him bodily out of the chair and put him in the bed and secure his wrists in restraints, it was only in a distant and disinterested way. Far more compelling was the drag of beckoning darkness and sleep, to which he barely resisted and, after a moment, succumbed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra whumpy I guess I’ve been kind of obsessed with the non-consensual drug use trope lately idk why??

Six days passed before they got a location. Using the Oracle grid, Natasha had managed to find a needle in a haystack, the thinnest digital thread—FRIDAY had not been able to prevent the attack but she’d been able to preserve enough breadcrumbs for them to follow to a location.

Steve was duly impressed with Natasha’s abilities, even boosted as she was by the Oracle grid’s algorithms; when she showed him the data, he could hardly believe that she’d managed to track it down. She tried to walk him through the attribution techniques she’d used but while Steve had learned a lot about modern technology, he wasn’t up to her speed when she was telling him what her sources had helped her discover. 

“The problem with cyberattacks like these is that the person responsible almost always has to work alone; no honor among thieves, they flip on each other too easily. But I, on the other hand, can get help and what this guy did in order to be able to hack FRIDAY took some specialized equipment, and that skill comes with a certain reputation in some circles. I think we have our man, but it’s not good news, Steve. It’s not going to be easy to assure Tony will be safe, if he has in mind what I think he does.”

“And what’s that?” 

“Ultron, if Ultron was concerned with world domination instead of destruction.”

Steve ran a finger over his lips, considering. “You’re saying an AI.”

“Yes, an AI, but an omniscient one. Ultron was intelligent. And malevolent. But JARVIS, and then Vision—“ her voice barely caught on the word as she continued “—kept him from knowing and being everywhere. But look. Whatever this guy is planning, there won’t be anything to hold him back.”

“Tony won’t,” Steve said simply.

“He certainly won’t if he has any choice, Steve,” Natasha said quietly. Steve could sense that her thoughts had wound and twisted to a dark place in her past, one where she did things because she didn’t have any choice. His heart contracted painfully; if Tony was put through something like that, it would only be because they hadn’t stopped it before it happened.

Steve reflected again on his past actions with Tony. He was still sure he was right about the Accords, after everything, and while he admitted to himself and even to Tony that he should have told Tony about his parents, it was still hard for him to grasp how angry and hurt Tony was still, and how he blamed Steve for the Snap because he hadn’t signed the Accords. He didn’t agree with Tony’s assessment that Steve had lied. None of them could have foreseen how the Accords would affect their ability to fight threats together. 

But an itch in his soul, his conscience, told him that wasn’t _quite_ true. In fact, Tony had said something bigger was coming that they weren’t prepared to fight. Tony had foreseen. He’d tried to tell them.

He dragged his thoughts back to the present threat, away from the old wounds that never seemed to heal. “How’d we miss it? Why didn’t any of our threat assessment tech pick up on it?”

“A machine can only look at what you tell it to. This guy’s smart. Really smart. If it weren’t for at least one happy accident and because I knew a guy that knew a guy who could help trace this, we wouldn’t have found him.” Steve thought for a moment she was going to go on, that she would tell him how badly the Avenger’s still needed Tony to function when there were people like this out there, but she was silent. She knew he knew.

“Should we try and… find reinforcements?”

“I think if this guy gets a whisper that we’re on to him, we won’t ever find him again. We need subtlety,” she added drily, and Steve raised his eyebrows to acknowledge that none of the new additions to the team fit that bill in the slightest.

“All right. Do we have a location?”

“We will in… six minutes and counting.” Her face shone with the soft blue backlight of her monitor that showed where the tracking algorithm was counting down. 

“What can we expect? Firefight?”

“It won’t be like that, I don’t think. Our advantage is surprise, he doesn’t know we found him. HIs advantage… he can probably still outsmart us. Hate to say it, but we really only got one shot at this.”

“Then we’ll make it count.”

…

Tony was pulled toward consciousness, his dread rising in proportion with his awareness. He knew the moment he woke up, the man would be waiting, watching; he always was. No matter what time the day or night, the man seemed to just _know_ when he’d open his eyes. He would have a precious few moments of clarity, hampered by the after-effects of the drugs.

Today, the smiling face of his captor was relaxed and happy. It often was, but today Tony knew there was good reason for it. He had finally gotten Tony to reveal an important piece of information that would move his plans forward by a leap and bound.

“I’m going to throw up,” Tony mumbled and the man leaned forward to remove the restraint on Tony’s left hand so he could turn over and throw up into the garbage can. Shaking and sweating, the bitter taste of bile burning his throat as if he’d been screaming, Tony lay back in the bed, boneless, weak, hating himself for his inability to fight this. Everything he’d gone through, everything he’d fought all this time and he was no more match than a kitten. He’d gotten soft, weak, incautious, and now he was paying the price.

“Maybe you need a break today,” the man said sympathetically, restraining Tony again despite his helpless appearance. He disappeared a moment and came back with a damp cloth and wiped Tony’s face, then helped him take a drink of water. Tony vividly imagined all the ways he would like to make the man suffer and die while having no choice but to submit to his ministrations. It was humiliating and almost as bad as the drugs and pain he subjected him to. 

“It’s probably the dilaudid with the high levels of cortisol from the stress. Wouldn’t be surprised if the modafinil wasn’t also contributing. I’ll try reducing the methylphenidate in your next dose and increasing the L-theanine,” the man said conversationally.

Tony did not respond to this, his world spinning with vertigo behind his closed eyes. He knew if he opened his eyes now he would vomit again, so he focused on keeping as still as possible. His chest hurt as if he’d been hit with a baseball bat; his entire body felt like a giant bruise. He was shaking, a cold clammy sweat over his body, his muscles and bones aching.

“How about a shower? Huh? And some breakfast? I’ll even take out your IV after I give you something to help with nausea, and a little something to take the edge off your pain,” he said kindly, stepping out to get the promised medications. 

“No,” Tony croaked, protested as he always did when the man subjected him to the drugs, and also as always, the man just smiled benevolently and did it anyway. He had mentioned at some point that he had some background in pharmaceuticals which Tony supposed was some kind of understatement given the man seemed to know drugs the way Tony knew mechanical engineering.

Tony waited for the effects of the drugs to hit and they did a moment later, eliciting a groan as it hit him like a fist. The first wave was often bad like that. It settled down a few minutes later, his nausea going from a boil to a simmer and his pain retreating, his mind clearing. Tony opened his eyes, his thoughts momentarily his own. 

“Yes, that’s better, isn’t it? I’m very sorry Stark, but I also had to give you something to make sure you didn’t try anything while you’re unrestrained. A small muscle relaxer. If you’re not careful you could fall, so take care as you shower.” He had reached over and taken the restraints off Tony’s wrists and ankles. He grabbed Tony’s shoulders and helped him sit up and Tony leveled a look of pure hatred and rage at his captor who seemed to find it amusing. There was nothing he did not laugh at. 

Tony felt the effects of whatever muscle relaxant he’d given him. He was weak, it reminded him of the days after he returned from the Benatar, starved nearly to death. He clenched his hands, raging at their weakness. The man tugged on his wrist and removed the IV in his arm, pressing a piece of gauze to the blood that oozed out from the site. He straightened. Whatever he saw in Tony’s face in that moment gave him pause.

“Anything funny and you’ll be restrained all the time, got it? Or I’ll just break one of your legs, do you understand? I’d rather not do that, but I won’t hesitate. We’ve worked too hard to get this far.” Tony nodded once; it wasn’t as if he had any choice. He was biding his time as best he could, aware that with each day, each hour that passed, the man got what he wanted and his own chances for survival were decreasing rapidly. 

The shower revived him, somewhat, and the clean clothes. But the hot water had also further weakened him. He looked around the bathroom as long as he dared for any kind of weapon, but it was bare of anything outside the sink, toilet, shower, and the towels. Short of shattering the mirror there was nothing that would help him. He gave himself a desolate look in the mirror, his unshaven face ragged looking and tired to the point of looking bruised. Though he slept for hours at a time, the drugs did not allow for a restful, rejuvenating sleep, just the opposite, he was plagued by hallucinations and nightmares and other side effects from the drugs.

When he finally came out of the bathroom, the man was just putting a plate of eggs and toast on the table near a large glass of orange juice. The nausea from earlier returned, but it was anger, it was anxiety. It reminded him sharply of Pepper, tending there small grove of oranges and juicing them some mornings no matter that it was time intensive, no matter the oranges were somewhat scraggly looking they were all the sweeter for it. He missed her with a desperation that staggered him, thinking of Morgan, half hoping half dreading if he did not make it home she would not remember him. He did not want anyone else to suffer because of him.

He sat down wordlessly, contemplating not eating. He’d soon be too weak and useless and either be killed or, or. There was no completion of the thought. It hung there, interrupted, unfinished, because he could not bear to think he would die from this after all he’d survived. Thanos. He’d survived Thanos. But he was going to die at the hands of some nameless psychopath. 

The man sat across from him and started eating with satisfaction, watching him with curious interest as Tony ignored the food in front of him. “Don’t like eggs?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Maybe you’re thinking it gives you some power, eh? A little control? It’s only in your best interest to eat though. I _am_ planning on letting you survive this, at least it’s a possibility.”

“Or maybe I’m just not hungry.”

The man rolled his eyes slightly and shrugged. “Suit yourself! I can force feed you if I need to.”

Tony couldn’t help it as his breath came faster, his hands shaking again. The idea of a tube down his nose or throat sickened him much more than any other torment the man had concocted yet. He forced down some of the eggs and toast and drank the orange juice, doing his best to keep from vomiting.

The man cleaned the kitchen while whistling tunelessly but never let Tony out of his line of sight. He had not relaxed his guard even once. Tony was far more used to his enemies underestimating him, but this one didn’t and it was proving difficult to find a way to extricate himself. 

“We can go outside for a little while.” He checked his watch. “About twenty minutes. Then the drugs will start to wear off, we’ll need to get you another dose.”

“I thought you said a break today,” Tony said warily. 

The man nodded in approval. “I did. But Stark the drugs I’ve been giving you were designed to give you a physiological, not to mention psychological dependence. These last six days, the round the clock dosing, it’s all been building towards this. You’re totally dependent now. In fact, without them it might just kill you. It was another failsafe in case you somehow managed to escape!” He added cheerfully as if he expected Tony to be impressed with his cleverness.

Tony leaned against the table with his head in his hands, trying to fight the despair that was rising within him like a black clot of darkness. Utter hopelessness filled him and he wished he hadn’t eaten. He had wished for death, many times since Titan, cursing Strange in every particular. His survivor’s guilt was worse than any physical torture he’d ever endured but things had been better, they’d gotten better. With some time, and with Pepper and therapy and a lot of work and effort.

All of that seemed to crash around him, his world once again reduced to ashes. The man saw his despair and came close, his face inches from Tony. “I could make that go away. I could make you feel whatever I want, happy, sad, terrified. I could take away your memories, you strength, your intelligence. If I wanted you could be drooling on the table right now. All it takes is a tiny bit of chemicals.”

“Just kill me,” Tony said, thinking of his family. They would be better off. The world would be better off, too, rather than him helping this psycho.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you off that easy. I promise to kill you after we’re done, if it’s still what you want. There’s another thing I can give you, Stark. An easy death. Or a hard one. I could make you suffer, oh, terribly. I’ve been pulling my punches, you know. I could make you feel like you were set on fire from the inside. I could make you live in your worst memories. I could give you a drug that would make you suggestible to anything I tell you and give you other terrible memories. This might not even be real, the eggs might not have been real, the shower. So. Just cooperate. This doesn’t have to take as long as it has, I know you’ve been fighting me.”

It was true, he had. He’d fought so hard, forcing the man to increase the dose and increase the dose before he’d talk, before the world would fuzz and he could hear the questions and not help but answer as if the man were reaching in his mind and tugging on strings there, unraveling, plucking out any information he needed.

The increase dose had the unfortunate effect of knocking him out and in not much time he was all but useless anyway, slurring his words even if he could formulate the thoughts, but soon even the thoughts were scattered. The hallucinations, the pain in his chest, the nausea. There were gaps in his memory; he didn’t know, couldn’t remember everything the man had quizzed him on but it always circled around how he’d coded his AIs, what he’d done to make them think, to learn, to _live._

It was complicated, beyond complicated, and his captor’s progress was slow. Slow but steady. He was pleased. 

“Don’t feel bad, Stark,” the man said comfortingly. “You are doing what you’ve tried all along to do—help save people. Someone needs to take control of this lost and broken and dusted world. All the people dying! Of pointless skirmishes and wars, of preventable diseases, of simple lack of knowledge. If I didn’t have to use the drugs on you, if you’d just cooperate, you could go home today.”

Tony groaned, rubbing his face. He couldn’t believe the man but his mind was already racing toward home, toward safety. Perhaps if he _did_ just cooperate, the damage control would be easier than this. He would do almost anything if he could really believe he would be sent home, and only his mistrust kept him from giving in.

The man smiled gently. “It’s okay, I understand. Outside?”

But Tony wasn’t sure if the brief exposure to fresh air and the freedom from the drugs effect would make it harder to bear later or not. Despite the man’s threats, he knew now he’d have to try to run, though. He’d have to hope he’d be killed in the attempt to recapture him. 

“No one’s coming for you,” his captor said seriously as if following Tony’s thought pattern. “I made sure. You’re alone. You’re completely dependent on me for your survival. And my creation is dependent on you. Together we’ll save the world, just like you always wanted. Not your miserable way, which has failed, again and again and again. My way.”

He stood abruptly and pulled on Tony’s arm, a bruising grip. “Come on. It will do you good. Then a new IV, you get some rest while I adjust your medications, and we’ll try and let your body recover from these past few days. I wouldn’t be surprised if your organs are under stress, particularly your heart.”

Tony turned as if stumbling and then reared back. He smashed his head into the man’s face with all his strength, momentarily stunning and blinding the man with a direct hit to the nose, breaking it. He dropped like a log and while he writhed on the floor Tony fumbled in the man’s jacket for the knife, He pulled it free and the man grasped at his wrist but Tony slipped out. He had not strength but the man was dazed and blinded from his watering eyes. 

Tony stumbled out the door, the ground heaving as the sudden exertion triggered severe vertigo. He fell; he got up. He fell. His body was weak, so he crawled until adrenaline gave him strength to stand and he started running towards the dense forest. 

He knew it wouldn’t take long for the man to find him; he wasn’t able to go fast, and he fell against trees and bushes, and within minutes his feet were cut against the rocks and sharp sticks and other natural detritus that lined the forest floor. But he stumbled on, though there was no path, he stumbled on, knowing it was pointless, only seeking to put distance between himself and his tormentor.

But when he paused, his heart pounding and out of breath a few minutes later, he listened and there was no sound of pursuit. He moved away more carefully, slower, looking for a hiding place now, trying not to leave so obvious a trail though he couldn’t help his bleeding feet. 

He had to stop to throw up again; so much for not leaving a trail. The exertion so close to the time he ate, the drugs, his state of high stress, who knew what all was contributing. He wished he could call Carol for an elixir, he wished Nebula were there to help him fight, he wished he had Rocket with any of his weapons or Okoye or Peter—

He fell again and he could not push himself up. The sky was a gentle gray; it was overcast. It was a pretty day, not too cold. He closed his eyes. 

It started with pain in his abdomen, sharp, insistent. He curled against it, drawing his legs up, but it did nothing to relieve the pain. Soon his entire body ached as if he had a fever but he did not feel hot, he felt cold. The pleasant chill from the overcast day seemed less pleasant now as he started to shiver. The shivering started to get more violent, painful. He couldn’t keep one thought to get to the next one. His discomfort grew and soon he was insensible to anything else.

Incoherent and delirious, he didn’t see or hear the steps approaching, slowly at first then with speed. A hand, surprisingly gentle, turned him over. Tony opened his eyes briefly and shuddered at the hallucination. “No,” he coughed, twisting his face away.

“Tony, it’s me,” Steve said needlessly but he had to say something, the way Tony had looked at him. He looked Tony over, feeling for injuries, finding the knife and taking it away. Tony grabbed at his wrist, trying to keep him from disarming him, but he was helpless, something very, very wrong. Tony curled back up, shaking violently.

“What did he do to you, Tony?” He worried briefly about Natasha, who was prepared for all manner of weapons and fighting, but whatever this man had done to Tony it didn’t look like something they encountered from the average Hydra thug.

They had arrived at the house several minutes after Tony had tried to escape and the man had gone after him. After a quick look around, they’d tracked them to the forest and caught up with Tony’s captor fairly quickly. As soon as he’d spotted them, he’d bolted and Natasha had gestured Steve to go on to keep looking for Tony. Knowing her skills at tracking were better than his, he’d let her go alone, pushing forward following the obvious signs of someone passing through through the forest without much thought on how they were leaving a trail. 

Tony appeared delirious, his feet bloody, in clothing too big for him. He looked sick and ragged and Steve’s heart twisted in painful guilt and anguish. He’d resented Tony, sometimes, after the Snap. For having so many people left, for leaving the Avengers and moving on with his life with some semblance of happiness. Most of the time he was happy for him, these days, realizing his jealousy was borne out of an unfathomable grief, one that came from losing everything _again_ compounded by his own failure to prevent it and the guilt that came with that. Seeing Tony now, all his selfish grief and jealousy seemed so petty and misplaced, all he felt was terrible fear and sorrow like a knife twisting in his chest.

“I got you Tony,” he said, though Tony was beyond hearing him. Steve grasped him by the shirt and pulled up upright, evoking a groan of pain from Tony. Throwing Tony’s arm over his shoulder, he was carrying him, Tony managing a step here and there but his head bowed, occasionally falling against Steve’s chest. 

As they approached the house, Steve paused before leaving the shelter of the forest, a soft rain beginning to fall. He listened intently, or at least tried to hear over the sounds of Tony’s convulsive shivers and the sounds of pain he made. He didn’t want to walk into a trap but he wasn’t sure if Tony could make it a mile where they’d landed the quinjet, the nearest place to land it. He laid Tony on the ground as gently as possible, readying his weapons and moving toward the house. 

Natasha came barreling out of the house a minute later, a black back in her hands, running full tilt and slamming against him as the house exploded behind her. The two of them covered their heads and then looked, watching the house burn.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helllllloooo! I love you guys! I’m working on Redwing but had to spit out this chapter between living in COVID hell lol hope you enjoy

Natasha only paused a few moments to catch her breath then ran to Tony, sliding to a stop, kicking dirt all over the prone and incoherent man.

“Damn it,” she said. “Tony!” She took his shoulders and shook him, trying to bring him around. Though he was moving in response to her touch, he did not open his eyes, only tried to push her hands away.

“Any idea what happened to him?”

“I was going to ask you,” Steve admitted.

“I have an idea of what happened,” she admitted. “We have to hurry. I don’t have time to explain everything, but the man who did this slipped away and he won’t just disappear quietly. Tony is still in danger, you’ve got to get him into hiding until I can find and stop the son of a bitch.”

The sound of a distant engine starting distracted them briefly. Natasha breathed out hard in frustration. “All right. He’s going to have a head start. We don’t have time to lose.”

“What do we do?” Steve said quickly.

“Get Tony to safety, some place he will be off grid, while I take the quinjet and track this guy down. I’ll need the Oracle grid and some luck to head him off, but if he gets his hands on Tony again, we’re screwed.”

“Not the Compound or a hospital if you think off grid,” Steve said doubtfully. “But he needs medical attention.”

“It will have to wait! There’s no saying what Tony was forced to tell him. It could be every secret to the Compound and there’s no hospital secure enough to hide him.”

“Then where?” Natasha pushed forward the black bag and dug something out of it, holding up a pair of keys with a triumphant smirk.

“We have a van. No GPS.”

“I know a SHIELD place probably 50 miles from here. I was just there last week, it’s got electricity but it’s off grid.”

“The place with the porch? South of Springville?” Steve nodded. “So _that’s_ where you went!”

“What is that?” Steve had caught a glimpse of the syringes in the bag. 

“I’ll explain on the way, help me get him to the van.”

“I got it.”

Tony’s weight was negligible to his strength but he noticed that Tony was stronger, had packed on weight and muscle since that terrible day at the Compound when he’d arrived more than half starved. He still was able to carry him easily to the van, fortunately parked partially out of sight and nowhere near the burning house. 

“That’s going to attract some attention.”

“If someone sees which direction you head, that might be enough for him to start tracking you, so let’s go!”

She opened the back door of the van and Steve felt a wave of disgust and revulsion at the restraints. Tony had been subjected to that. Tony had had drugs injected in his body and tortured for days while they searched for him. 

Steve placed him gently down while Natasha did a sweep of the van. She took a few minutes in order to be thourough, but the man hadn’t taken any chances that someone could track him and the van appeared clean— there was no apparent way to track it, other than the license plate. Steve ripped it off.

Natasha leaned over Tony, who was laying on his side his back toward them. She took a liberty, blinking back tears, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll find him Tony, I promise,” she murmured. She turned back to Steve and handed him the keys and the black bag. 

“This is going to suck,” she said grimly. “But you’re going to have to give him these drugs.”

“I can’t do that!” Steve said, aghast.

“You’ll have to or he’ll die. When I cornered that guy in the house, he almost winged me. I was just about to get my own shot off, he said if I killed him, I kill Tony too; he’s physically dependent on the drugs and will die without them.”

“You believe him? It could be a trick so you don’t kill him!”

“Yes I believe him.”

“Natasha,” he said helplessly. “I’ve never given anyone drugs! I couldn’t possibly—“

“There’s no one else, Steve. I’m sorry. You’ll have to try and figure it out, maybe if Tony wakes up enough—“

Steve swallowed. He realized Tony wasn’t exactly his biggest fan and didn’t exactly trust him with his health and well-being but there was no time to argue.

“Put these electronic masks on,” she continued, pushing Steve to the driver’s seat. “There’s bound to be surveillance cameras between here and the safehouse. Hell, even satellites, as far I know! Ditch the van as soon as you can. Good luck.”

Steve felt a sick sense of dread as she bolted away toward the quinjet but shoving the feeling aside he tossed the bag into the passenger seat and started the van, pressing the electronic mask into place and feeling the strange, prickling sensation it caused as it formed to his face. The second mask would be for Tony whenever they switched cars. 

Steve needed to find a gas station— it would probably provide a map, because despite having a pretty good idea of where the safehouse was in relation to his present position, he wasn’t 100% sure and Tony didn’t seem to have a lot of reserves for a prolonged road trip. He’d also need some supplies to hunker down, and gas for the van if a different vehicle wasn’t easily obtainable. 

He also knew that if this guy, whoever he was, they still didn’t even have a name, was looking for Tony he’d be smart to keep an eye on the gas stations. Hopefully he would assume they took him in the Quinjet and that would give Steve some time. 

They needed some time. It irked him to no end that Tony’s life was in such danger from some nameless nobody, and it further irritated him that they were running from him instead of meeting him head on. Let him come, Steve figured; he and Natasha could take him out before he ever got to Tony again. 

But he trusted Natasha’s instincts and judgment; if she’d refused to face him in the open there was good reason for it, even if she didn’t have time to explain it.

Steve pushed the van for speed. Every minute of distance bought them a little more time before the man found them. And he knew that Tony would need attention soon. He tried to keep an close eye on Tony, to make sure he was still out of it, and he didn’t like the way he was breathing, he would have to check on him _soon._

He decided to drive east, a less direct route to the safehouse, hoping that if he was somehow traced this far it would throw him off as to what direction they were really heading. He passed a few middle-of-nowhere gas stations, knowing they would be more likely to stand out in someone’s mind in such isolated areas, but a more crowded place they would blend in. 

He found a gas station near a few local recreation areas; a town further east, a large campground within a few miles, and a college town about twenty miles on. It was an ideal spot; though it had more surveillance cameras there were a broad mix of people to blend in with. He parked the van out of view, around the side of the convenience store. He climbed in the back of the van, touching Tony’s shoulder and turning him over. 

He thought Tony was still out of it and it shocked him to see Tony’s eyes open, comprehending, staring as if into his soul.

“You’ll have to kill me,” he said and Steve’s heart stuttered before he remembered that he was wearing an electronic mask and Tony wouldn’t recognize him.

“Tony, it’s me, Steve Rogers. I’m here to help you, I won’t—“ But then he remembered Natasha said he would have to give the drugs to him. He’d been about to say _I won’t let anything happen to you,_ but that wasn’t exactly true was it.

“No,” Tony said, closing his eyes. The moment of coherency was slipping away and Steve grasped his arm to try and bring him around again. 

“I’m going to find us a new ride, okay? No more van. We’ll take you someplace safe.”

“Home,” Tony mumbled.

“Not yet, but soon,” Steve tried to reassure him. “Tony stay here and I will be back as soon as I can.” Tony appeared to not hear him, turning over as if to go back to sleep.

He hated to leave Tony alone and vulnerable but had little choice. He went into the convenience store first and bought supplies, including a map. His years in hiding after not signing the Accords came in handy for this; he was practiced at identifying essentials, at avoiding suspicion, at noticing anyone noticing him. With his electronic mask and non-description dark clothing, no one paid him any mind. He waited for a fresh pot of coffee to brew in order to take a moment to see what vehicle he might take. He overheard someone mentioning the campground and realized that campers might not miss their car for days. Quick change of plans.

He came back to the van. Opening the driver’s side door and peering the back, he felt a stab of anxiety and fear when he saw the van was empty. He’d locked the van so had to think that Tony, incapacitated as he was, had left of his own accord. Calmly he looked around the outside of the van, hoping that Tony hadn’t been able to get far. He spotted Tony’s barefoot sticking out from around the side of a dumpster a few yards away and went over quickly.

Tony had fallen asleep again but was not sleeping peacefully, twitching painfully as with nightmares— or the beginnings of withdrawals. “Tony,” he said softly, keeping an eye out for anyone watching them but no one could see them and he couldn’t see any cameras. Tony flinched away from Steve as if electrified, his eyes open briefly but uncomprehending and Steve, as he grasped his once friend and teammate, realized how badly Tony was shaking. 

Steve swallowed down a feeling of panic. There was no telling the last time that Tony had had a dose of the drugs or just how long it would take before he would begin to have health compromise from the withdrawal of it. But he could see that Tony was pale, a fine sheen of sweat on his body. 

He tried to pick Tony up but Tony fought him now, with surprising strength. “Let me help you,” Steve begged. “Tony, let me help you to the van, I need to get you someplace safe.” 

“No,” Tony said hoarsely, a wild look of anger and fear in his eyes. “ _No._ ” Afraid that they would start to attract attention at any moment, Steve picked Tony up bodily and even fighting him with all he had and Steve trying to be gentle, he was no match for Steve’s strength. Relieved he’d thought to unlock the van doors, he grasped Tony’s arm to keep him (barely) on his feet while he opened the doors and then stepped in, pulling Tony in behind him and closing and locking the doors. 

The back door to the van had child locks on them, meaning they could only be opened from the outside. Tony futilely tried the door while Steve, the van tight fit for two full grown men, tried to keep him from hurting himself with one hand and opened Natasha’s black bag with the other. 

“Tony, look!” Steve said urgently and removed the electronic mask. Tony blinked owlishly, his face pale and dark circles under his eyes accentuated by the fractured light coming from the windows in the front of the van. A heartbreaking look of devastation and grief passed over Tony’s face. 

“Not again,” he begged. “Go away, go away, you’re not real.” The sad rebuke in his voice reminded Steve forcefully of the moment when Tony had told him that he had nothing for him—no trust. And with that loss of trust, Steve had seen all he’d truly lost everything with Tony, their friendship and the love between them and all their shared history and the bond that came from it. Everything he’d hoped to regain after failing so miserably in Siberia to do the right thing, he realized it had slipped away, too late, when because of his selfish decision not to sign the Accords he’d left Tony to face the threat alone. 

Steve had been in therapy since the Snap; he’d been doing everything he could to overcome some of the emotional repression and the traumas he’d suffered throughout his life, his fear of loss, the unhealthy attachment and protectiveness he’d formed when he’d found James Barnes alive. He knew he was no longer the person capable of the cruel and selfish things he’d done to Tony but he also accepted that he had no right to ask Tony to forgive him and he might not even have a chance. 

“Not real,” Tony said again as if trying to convince himself. 

“ _Real,_ ” Steve said after a moment debating with himself whether it might be better for Tony if he kept the mask on and remained a stranger. Firmly grasping Tony’s arm, he decided for the moment not to add any more complexity to the situation. “I’m right here. I came for you. Pepper called me and Natasha and we came. I’m here.”

Tony gave a broken sound like a sob but he covered his ears and closed his eyes. Tearless, he curled up on the van floor. 

“Tony, I need to give you some of these… medications. The man who did this to you said that you could die without them.” He pulled one of Tony’s hands away from his ears, making him listen. “Do you know how much he gave you? What’s even in these syringes, Tony?”

Tony pulled his wrist out of Steve’s grasp and Steve let go, knowing if he held on any tighter he would bruise the already abused man. Tony lay shivering convulsively and Steve sighed with worry and frustration, feeling nothing but dread and anxiety as he pulled the lid off one of the needles. 

He pulled up the sleeve on Tony’s thin white t-shirt, feeling sick and scared that he was going to do real harm to Tony, but without any choice he plunged the needle into Tony’s deltoid muscle and pushed in the contents of the syringe. 

Tony twitched when the needle went in and made a small sound of pain when he injected the drugs but made no move to combat him on it. Nothing happened for a few minutes then Tony went limp.

Terrified, Steve turned him over and leaned close to check his breathing. It was slow; shallow, but steady. His eyes were closed, not tightly in defiance and rejection of everything he saw, but in a relaxed and unconscious state. Steve found it disturbing and waited a few more minutes to assure that no fresh horror would arise from this fantastically terrible situation, but whatever the drugs did, for the moment, Tony was completely out of it.

Deciding he’d better use the side effect to his advantage while he could, Steve moved quickly to the driver seat, putting the electronic mask back in place. He drove to the campground parking lot. He didn’t see any cameras but was anxious when they were stopped at a gate to pay the fee to enter. The person in the booth noticed the lack of license plate and made a comment; if anyone was looking for them, that person would surely remember him. Steve made a joke and played it off and the kid did not seem suspicious or concerned. 

It was not difficult to find a car parked out of the way that had a layer of leaves from the tree above scattered across its surface to indicate no one used it in a while. It was a Saturday; hopefully it’s owners wouldn’t be around for another day, if they were lucky. Watching several minutes to make sure there was no one watching them, he was able to easily break into the car and hotwire it to start it. They would lose the advantage of the windowless back portion of the van shielding cameras and eyes from seeing Tony, but the car had plenty of gas and Steve didn’t plan on stopping until they got to their destination. 

Going back for Tony, he gently pressed the electronic mask to his face, watching it morph him into someone strange, unrecognizable. He carefully lifted Tony out of the van, holding him upright with his head against his shoulder so it didn’t move too much in case anyone happened to glance over it might not seem as obvious that Tony was completely out of it. He lay Tony across the back seat with care then quickly transferred all their supplies to the trunk of the car. He didn’t see anyone.

It was now a delicate balance between speed and care not to draw attention or get pulled over. Again, it was something Steve was practiced at, once upon a time, and though it had been a couple years he could still spot a possible speed trap and the drive was relatively uneventful for nearly a half hour.

Steve sensed Tony begin to stir. Slowing down in case he had to pull over, Steve watched him in the rear view mirror as he slowly came to and sat up, holding his head.

He looked around, confused and groggy, immediately spotting Steve in the mirror watching him. He held his head as if in pain.

“Who are you?” He demanded.

“Tony, it’s me, Steve.”

“Steve.”

“Steve Rogers. I’m wearing an electronic mask.”

Tony frowned, shaking his head. “You’re not Steve Rogers.”

Steve reached up and took off this electronic mask. They were on an isolated road deep into a forest, not much need for caution. Tony watched him, still frowning. 

“This could be a dream,” Tony muttered. 

“I’d like to take some time to convince you it’s real, but we don’t have the luxury. You’ve been out of it.”

“Out of it,” he repeated. 

“The drugs, Tony, whatever the man who took you has been giving you, they’ve affected you. He told Natasha you were physically dependent on them. This is the first time you’ve seemed coherent for more than a few seconds, how are you feeling?”

Tony ran a hand through his hair, making the curls stick up. Steve’s stomach clenched, recognizing the gesture from one of many times he would see Tony emerge from the lab with some new miracle of technology or solution to the problem the team had been working on. 

“I feel sick. I have to pee,” Tony replied to his question. 

“We’re about a hour away from the safehouse, Tony, can you make it?”

Tony nodded. He put a hand to his head again, then felt around his face looking bewildered. 

“I put a mask on you too, Tony, in case the man who took you came looking no one could say they’d seen you.”

“He… he’s still out there. You think he’s looking for me, that he’ll come after me.”

Steve nodded, his eyes on the road, but flicking to Tony in the mirror. “Natasha said he would. We didn’t have much time to talk about it. But she’s on his tail and she won’t rest until she finds him.”

Tony reached up his hands and pulled off the electronic mask, dropping it in his lap and scrubbing his hands across his face. 

“I’m afraid this isn’t real,” he said looking out the window, watching the landscape zip past. “It could be a dream. The drugs, they cause lucid dreams like this, though I haven’t had this dream before. It’s usually Rhodey coming. Always ends a nightmare though, me or him getting killed. It ends the same, I can’t escape.”

“Well I’d offer to pinch you,” Steve said with dry humor. “But it doesn’t seem to mesh with the whole save your ass motif I was going for.”

Tony didn’t smile. 

“There’s a package of water bottles by your feet,” Steve suggested. Tony shook his head.

“I’ll throw up. Wait until we get… we get…”

“Until we get there,” Steve confirmed. Tony nodded hesitantly. 

“Any idea what happens next? To you, I mean?” Steve asked, trying to be delicate. “Can you give me any idea what to expect, I mean?”

Tony was silent a few moments. “At first I’m tired, sedated, I can’t fight him or move. Then when I wake up, it’s like this a while, anything he asks me I have to answer. Like I don’t get a choice, and everything is sharp and clear and sped up. I can understand things easy, until it starts to wear off, it varies on how long. We work on the calculations, the codes for his AI, debug things he uncovered while I was asleep. It starts to wear off, I get sick, it hurts for a while. I don’t know how long. I’m usually, usually restrained for that part, I think…”

His brow furrowed as he grasped at the ghosts of his memories. “I think I hurt myself before,” he said finally. “There’s some hallucinating. I thought something was under my skin.”

“Okay. Okay,” Steve said firmly, as much to steady himself as Tony, who was looking more agitated and distraught. “Then what?”

“Then sometimes he gives me something for the side-effects. Then I come off the drugs, it’s unpleasant, but then things slow down, cloudy. I eat, sometimes bathe. I think. Rest. He gives me something to make me sleep, unless there’s more work to do, then he gives me the other one. I don’t know. I don’t know!”

“That’s all right, that’s helpful. Relax for now. We’ll be there soon and we’ll get you more comfortable, okay?”

Tony met his eyes in the mirror, desolate and a hint of anger in them, but he only nodded. It wasn’t as if he had any choice, Steve acknowledged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy to hear from you in the comments! Be safe dear readers!

**Author's Note:**

> someone commenting on redwing had asked about headcanons re: interactions with tony and the exvengers during the blip. since that fic is sam wilso pov, it’s not going to address that, but i’d had an idea for a fic like this for a while and decided to play with it while i’m working on redwing to explore some of the characters and team dynamics. it’s not set in the same “verse” as redwing. anyway fair warning lol the reason i didn’t write it sooner was because i wasn’t sure where it’d go and i still don’t know so not sure how long it will be or what updates will be like or even how it will end :/ you’ll have to just bare with me, really hope you enjoy oh great here comes the inevitable insecurity that no one will like this lol


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